I'll Have to Say I Love You in a Song
by Lila2
Summary: Four Songs Puck Doesn't Sing for Quinn Fabray But One She Sings For Him
1. Black Dog

**Title:** "I'll Have to Say I Love You in a Song (Or Four Songs Puck Doesn't Sing for Quinn Fabray But One She Sings for Him)"

**Author:** Lila

**Rating:** PG-13/Light R

**Character/Pairing: **Puck, assorted members of Glee Club

**Spoiler:** "Mash-Up"

**Length:** Part I of V

**Summary:** It takes a glee club to create a man.

**Disclaimer:** Not mine, just borrowing them for a few paragraphs.

**Author's Note:** Couple things: one, this fic was intended as a one-shot but per usual, got ridiculously long, and I didn't have a way of breaking it down and putting sections together so it turned into a multi-part fic by default. Two, this will probably be my last fic for a while. I signed up for National Novel Writing Month and need to work on that project before fic. Expect more fic in December because I cannot stop writing for this fandom. Three, I hope this chapter make sense. I think when it's read with chapter two it will make a ton of sense but I'm curious how it works as a stand alone. Title and cut courtesy of Jim Croce (who I LOVE). Enjoy.

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**I. **_**Black Dog**_

The morning after the Nelly sing-along Artie rolls up to Puck and asks if he wants to jam in the choral room after school.

Puck stares him down (literally stares him down) and crosses his arms across his chest. He might have joined that freak show (and secretly really likes it) but he's not sure he wants to spend time with one of them beyond practice. Except Artie's really good at guitar, even better than he is, and he wants to get better. Finn might be able to pound the hell out of a drum kit, but he sucks on guitar. Finn already has football and Glee and Quinn. There needs to be one thing in his life where he can do better.

He ignores the stares around them, glares especially hard at Dave Karofsky, and kind of shrugs his shoulders. "Yeah, okay," he says.

It begins there.

---

They start with the basics – Nirvana, Pearl Jam – until Puck reminds him that he actually knows how to play a guitar and Artie replaces "Come As You Are" with "On a Plain" and exchanges "Alive" for "Estranged."

Puck usually takes rhythm while Artie tackles the solos but every now and then he's allowed to channel his inner Slash and sometimes it doesn't totally sound like ass.

In truth, it never really matters how it sounds. He likes losing himself in the music, his fingers sliding across the strings, wearing calluses into the pads of his fingers. Finn has the same grooves carved into his hands, the football roughing the skin of his palms. Puck likes having his own scars to show for his effort. It means what he's doing is real when nothing else in his life (football, Quinn, Glee) feels the same.

---

A few days into their (friendship? Partnership? Puck isn't really sure what to call it), they move into the classics. Santana (the real one, not the one whose pants he tried to get into for three months), Clapton, Zeppelin too. Artie's patient while he stumbles over Jimmy Page's chord progressions, waits for him while he plucks his way through "Kashmir" at a pace slower than Mercedes guessing Kurt's sexuality.

He's a cool kid, Artie, even with those glasses and shirts and one-liners Puck doesn't understand, and he feels kind of bad that he used to torture him. He feels bad about a lot of things these days (Quinn + Finn + baby that's really his) but he still has room to regret dumping the kid's gym clothes in the toilet and sneaking closed the brakes on his chair and locking him in a port-o-potty to reel in Finn (always Finn, every single time). He feels bad about it, he really does, and he doesn't understand why Artie wants to play with him when he kind of sucks (at least compared to Artie's mad skills) and there's an entire jazz band the kid can bounce ideas off.

Still, he's getting better with each day so he doesn't complain even if he doesn't understand. There's a lot in his life he doesn't understand (his dad walking out and Quinn pushing him away); he ignores this the way he tries to ignore those things.

---

Artie has a good voice, although not better than Puck's, and they sometimes sing along to the chords when they're playing the guitars. Zeppelin is his favorite and they quickly wear their way through "Kashmir" and "Over the Hills and Far Away" and "Immigrant Song" which might have been written by the mighty Page and Plant but is the stupidest song in their entire catalogue.

"It's a metaphor," Artie says with a shake of his head when Pucks mumbles something under his breath. "It's all about Zeppelin conquering the music scene by force because they rock that hard." Puck nods and pretends he understands even though he still thinks all the talk about Vikings and Valhalla is the dumbest thing he's ever heard.

Artie sees the look on his face and flips the sheet music. He stares Puck down. "You're going to take the solo."

Puck shakes his head. "No way, dude. This is all you."

Artie's seen what arguing with him can do, urine soaked gym clothes and afternoons locked in port-o-potties, and he doesn't fight back. Instead, his fingers stroke out the first rough notes before belting out the opening line.

_**"Hey, hey mama, said the way you move. Gonna make you sweat, gonna make you groove."**_

He starts on the solo, brows knotted in concentration beneath the thick frame of his glasses, his hair falling messily over his brow. Puck's grateful for his mohawk. He has enough trouble remembering all the chords in order and putting his fingers in the right place on the frets without having to see through a blindfold of his own hair.

It's even harder when he sings along for the second line.

_**"Ah, ah, child way you shake that thing. Gonna make you burn, gonna make you sting."**_

He watches Artie, waiting for his turn to jump in on rhythm (even if the original song doesn't call for it), when Artie's fingers still on the strings.

"Forget the next note?" Puck asks and reaches for the sheet music, double checks the notes. Artie's gotten every one right.

Artie shakes his head and a red flush creeps up his cheeks. Puck swallows hard. He's already seen the way Kurt acts around Finn. He doesn't think Artie swings that way but he can't figure out what else would make him act like this. "It's this song…" he trails off and stares at the floor, like he's embarrassed about something.

Puck knows the feeling, except he's Noah Puckerman and would never do something as pathetic as letting his feelings show, and he doesn't know how to react. "Do you need a minute?" he asks and hopes Artie will wheel himself out of the room until whatever this is passes. The only person he's ever let open up to him is Finn and he remembers how well that went. _"You make it a habit of sleeping with your friends' girlfriends?" _He pushes away the memory of one betrayal and focuses on the wrong he's working to right. "Dude? What the hell is wrong with you?"

"So, what's it like?" Artie says out of nowhere, so suddenly that Puck has no idea what he's taking about.

"What?"

Artie's eyes widen behind the glasses and his eyebrows practically disappear into his hairline and he gulps so loudly the noise actually echoes through the empty room but he doesn't look away. "You know, sex."

It takes Puck a full thirty seconds to respond and when he does it takes everything in him not to burst into hysterical laughter. "For real, man? Do a google search."

"Shared computer. If my mom ever caught me it would be even more embarrassing than this conversation. So tell…"

Puck doesn't really understand. He and Artie might make halfway decent music together but they're not friends. They don't sit together at lunch and they don't hang out after school and just three months ago he tried to flip the kid over in a port-o-potty. He doesn't get why Artie's pushing this. "You're a stud," Artie offers before he can flat out ignore him. "I'm never going to be able to do it myself. If anyone can tell me about it, it's you."

Puck pauses, because he likes the guy, he really does, but he's not about to lay out the birds and the bees for him. "Dude, even Jason Street managed to knock up some chick. Give it time."

Artie's eyes soften and remind him of his mom's the morning his dad walked out for good. "It's all fun and games until you can't get it up. Ever. TV isn't real life."

Puck swallows hard, harder than before, because his life has been nothing but weird for the last three months but this might top the list. He wants to say no. He wants to pack up his gear and run for the door like Finn's discovered the truth and is coming at him with those massive fists flying. He wants to do anything and everything to get away from this moment because it's the kind of things friends do, fill in the missing pieces for each other, and if he does this he's saying Artie matters to him and means something beyond a human punching bag turned guitar hero.

He doesn't want to make this change. He needs something constant in his life when nothing will stay the same.

He avoids Artie's eyes and concentrates on the way his fingers are gripping the neck of the guitar in his lap. He wouldn't be this good, this improved, without Artie's help. The kid didn't have to do this; he knows the least he can do is provide a basic sketch of sex ed.

"It's…" he starts and stops because he doesn't know how to have this conversation without it sounding like he's hitting on Artie (and he's still not completely convinced the kid isn't hitting on him).

He wants to explain what it's like for a girl's bare skin to slide against his, soft and silky and hot to the touch. He wants to explain how it feels when she moans his name just from the feel of his fingers against her skin. He wants to explain how he loses himself when he slides into hot, wet heat and buries his face in the curve of her neck and he thinks he could die from how good it feels.

All he sees is Quinn, arching against him, legs wrapped tight around his hips, his face buried in the curtain of her hair as his name hisses between her lips and he's pretty sure he has actually died and gone to heaven. All he knows is that he's done this probably a hundred times before but it never made his hands shake or his mouth tremble the way it did when he was buried deep inside Quinn Fabray.

He doesn't tell Artie any of it. Instead his hands fall to his lap and it's his turn to stare at the floor. "Sex never means nothing," is all he says and when he's ready (he waits too long and he knows it and prays Artie isn't going to tell a soul) he raises his eyes to Artie's and lets him see (even if the kid doesn't understand it) the regret lurking there.

Artie doesn't say anything in return and breaks their gaze only to turn to his guitar and pluck the hell out of the first solo. Puck joins in, following Artie's lead, and together they find the right rhythm.

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	2. This Woman's Work

**Title:** "I'll Have to Say I Love You In a Song (Or Four Songs Puck Doesn't Sing for Quinn Fabray But One She Sings for Him)"

**Author:** Lila

**Rating:** PG-13/Light R

**Character/Pairing: **Puck, assorted members of "Glee"

**Spoiler:** "Mash-Up"

**Length:** Part II of V

**Summary:** It takes a glee club to create a man.

**Disclaimer:** Not mine, just borrowing them for a few paragraphs.

**Author's Note:** Thank you to all those supporting this fic! I know the first part was a bit strange, but the second part is more in line with what this fic is all about. Also, I'm referencing Maxwell's version of "This Woman's Work" in this fic because I like it more than the original (sacriledge, I know!) but also because I think it's a song Mercedes would know, enjoy, and maybe be inspired by. Enjoy.

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**II. **_**This Woman's Work**_

---

He stays friends or partners or whatever with Artie. Matt and Mike give him a weird look during their group storm out, but he shrugs his shoulders and orders them to grab a wheel. "Dude, he's like the next John Mayer. We can't leave him behind."

Matt and Mike don't complain (they know the football hierarchy too well to speak up), but the others notice and the next day at practice, during the group sing, Kurt doesn't glare at him once and Tina c-co-compliments his shirt. It's gray and has a tear on one cuff, but he doesn't tell her she's wrong. He's tired of everyone hating him all time (his eyes lock on Quinn looking exhausted and like she could puke any minute) so he kind of nods his head in response and sits down on one of the risers.

Something big and wide comes to a stop beside him and he knows without looking up that it's Mercedes.

When he glances at her he's surprised that she isn't glaring at him and her arms aren't crossed all hostile like over her chest. "I saw what you did, white boy," she says. "I still don't like you, but you didn't have to do that."

He shrugs his shoulders again and keeps his eyes trained on the piano (anything to keep them away from Quinn looking pale and green to his right). "Whatever."

The riser shakes slightly as she sits down beside him but he doesn't move away. "Wanna help me with a song?"

He doesn't want to help her. He doesn't like Tina or Kurt much, but he really doesn't like Mercedes and her tendency towards diva fits. He wants to say no but he also wants anything to distract him from Quinn and his baby looking miserable at center stage. "Yeah, sure," he says and follows her across the room.

He can feel Quinn's eyes on him every step of the way.

---

Working with Mercedes isn't so bad. She's bossy as hell and has a mean mouth, but she knows what she wants and he finds it easy to follow her lead.

He offers to play the piano because it fits the arrangement; if Mr. Schue has taught him anything through Glee, it's to always take on the unexpected. "Let's do something different," she says and works on the lyrics while he tinkers with his guitar.

He likes her choice even though it's totally a chick song and is like three ranges higher than anything he can sing. Still, it's catchy and sweet (not that he'd ever admit it) and finds himself humming along to the chorus when they present it to the club, his guitar setting the mood while Mercedes fills the room with her voice.

_**"I know you've got a little life in you. I know you've got a lot of strength left."**_

He's a good enough player (thanks, Artie) to keep his eyes focused on the audience during the song but he keeps them glued to his guitar to keep from looking at Quinn. She's less glassy-eyed today and there's color in her cheeks and she's so pretty it actually hurts. It's hard to look at her and breathe at the same time.

There's polite clapping when the song is over and Rachel looks a little worried and Finn looks like he doesn't even know him, but Mr. Schue offers a polite thank you and says he'll consider the submission for Sectionals.

Puck exchanges a look with Mercedes and knows they're both sunk. Mr. Schue isn't a bad guy, but he's stubborn as hell and has trouble seeing past his self-made stars.

"We did good," he tries to reassure her as they pack up their gear. She looks like she wants to cry and there are few things he hates more than when girls cry (his father, the Wolverines, Quinn Fabray's lies). He's had enough experience with a crying mother over the past decade; he doesn't think he can handle a bawling diva.

She keeps her eyes locked on the other side of the room where Mr. Schue is going over sheet music with Rachel and Finn. "I hate that no one ever sees me for what I am," is what she says and it has nothing to do with what just happened but somehow makes sense all the same. "I'm always too fat, too loud, too black. I'm a really good singer," she continues and he knows without looking at her that she's working to fight back tears. "Why can't anyone just see that?"

Puck rubs a hand over his head, fingers catching in his mohawk, and grimaces because he knows what she's talking about. He has two eighteen-inch sub woofers in the trunk of his jeep and a nipple-ring and he shaves his head every other week to keep up appearances. When he walks down the hall, freshmen literally jump against lockers to avoid him; when he tells Dave Karofsky to shove it, he shrinks back and listens. He also has a mom with a broken heart and a sister with no father and a whole heap of shit on his plate that no one knows about. _"Weren't you fired for peeing in a fast food fryolator?"_ He closes his eyes, remembers the anger and disgust on her face as she spat the words at him and the relief he felt when she walked away before she could see how deeply she'd sliced him open.

He wants to cut and run and say something like, "People only see what they want to see," but if that were true he'd be an asshole for the rest of his life. It was fun for a while but he knows there's more to him than throwing slushies in people's faces. He won't be remembered for being a good football player (that's always been more Finn's thing than his) or a good guy (he's punched too many people for no real reason) but he could be a good guitar player. He could stand behind Mercedes while she sings her heart out to the world (or Kurt. Everyone knows she's not over him even though she swears she is). He could be that guy.

"Hey, Mr. Schue," he says and every eye in the room locks on him as he makes his way across the floor. He's careful not to look at Quinn. For once, this isn't about her.

"Yeah, Puck?"

He takes a deep breath, stands straight under the weight of the stares holding him back. "I think Mercedes was really fucking good." Mr. Schue winces and he knows he shouldn't have cursed, but he's not going for a complete personality transfer. He just wants to get his point across. "If Rachel's going to have a solo at Sectionals, she should too."

"I think she's _fabulous_," Kurt breaks in and Artie and Tina second the motion. Matt surprises everyone by finally saying something and Brittany and even Santana agree.

Mr. Schue looks embarrassed by Puck doesn't really feel guilty. It's time someone does the right thing and says the words out loud. "You're right," he says. "You're all right. We should have learned from the Sue fiasco that Glee is about all of us."

Mr. Schue doesn't make any promises but Puck feels pretty good for setting the plan in motion.

Mr. Schue isn't perfect either and Rachel and Finn still end up with solos, but when they rehearse the group sing later that afternoon, rallying around Quinn while he tries to remember how to breathe around the tight ache in his chest that's replaced his heart, all their voices blend together perfectly.

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	3. What You Own

**Title:** "I'll Have to Say I Love You in a Song (Or Four Songs Puck Doesn't Sing for Quinn Fabray but One She Sings for Him)"

**Author:** Lila

**Rating:** PG-13/Light R

**Character/Pairing: **Puck, assorted members of "Glee"

**Spoiler: **"Mash-Up"

**Length: **Part III of V

**Summary:** It takes a glee club to create a man.

**Disclaimer:** Not mine, just borrowing them for a few paragraphs.

**Author's Note:** Thank you to everyone supporting this fic. I've really been enjoying writing it, especially the last part, but I like this section a lot too. Also, I'm a bit out of the loop when it comes to showtunes so is "Rent" still cool? I feel like it's high school canon at this point, and any aspiring Broadway wannabe would know the songs and book by heart. Enjoy

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**III. **_**What You Own**_

---

Mr. Schue takes Puck's outburst as a cue that he wants to take a more active role in the club.

He doesn't.

He doesn't want to lead; he just doesn't want to be the resident asshole any longer.

Mr. Schue has never had too many brain cells though and a week or so later he tells him that he's singing a duet with Kurt.

"No," is all he says and Mr. Schue frowns.

"Why not? You did such a great job with Mercedes. I think you can do even better work with Kurt."

"I'm cool playing guitar, but I'm not singing with another dude."

Mr. Schue is persistent and insists on going over the music with him. "It's a song for two voices and it's not about love. Kurt has a great voice for Mark, but Artie's is too deep for Roger. Yours has the right amount of grit." He grins. "Roger is a rock star, Puck. He's perfect for you."

Puck wants to keep fighting, because it was bad enough when Kurt made him dance but to sing with him too? Except he likes the way Mr. Schue is looking at him, like he's not the scum of the earth (the way Quinn looks at him) or like he's afraid of him (Rachel, every time he walks down the hallway with a slushie in hand), and he gives in. "Fine, whatever.

Everyone has been assigned a duet but Mr. Schue has taken his suggestion to heart and paired Rachel and Finn with other people. Finn and Quinn are together, both looking like complete douches with sunglasses pushed up their foreheads, and he looks away before going back to his former self and smashing his fist into someone's face; even when he makes her look like a moron, Quinn is willing to go along with anything Finn says.

"Ahem," a voice says next to his ear and Puck looks down to find Kurt smirking up at him. He glares and Kurt glares back. "I don't want to do this anymore than you do but I want front and center at Sectionals. A profile shot is just not flattering for me."

Puck wonders if he's suddenly switched religions and been nominated for sainthood because only someone like Mother Theresa could put up with this and not lose his mind entirely. "Let's just get this over with," he says and starts towards the corner where the jazz band usually sets up. He wants to be away from the spotlight. He wants to be away from Finn and Quinn and the baby that only belongs to one of them.

---

Turns out, it's not so bad being paired with Kurt. He's still annoying as fuck, but he's a good coach. Puck should have remembered from the dance routine that won them their only game of the season. Kurt is stern but smart and he gets the job done.

Show tunes are something Puck never listens to (there's a lot of things he never did before this freak show) but the song isn't so bad. It's got a rock edge and when he listens to the cast recording on the way home from school one day, he decides he likes the rasp in Roger's voice. He even tries to roughen his own voice and doesn't cringe when Kurt smiles in appreciation.

He does well with the song, the lines are easy to memorize and he doesn't have trouble remembering his cues, but he struggles a bit with the part where he and Kurt have to sing in unison.

_**"Just tighten those shoulders".**_

_**"Just clench your jaw 'til you frown."**_

**_"Just don't let go or you may drown."  
_**

"Can we take a break?" he asks after the fifth try and their voices still aren't blending together just right.

"Sure." Kurt is mostly speaking in one word sentences to him and he's not complaining. The kid himself isn't so bad (he did win them that football game) but most of what he says makes his ears feels like they're bleeding.

They sit side by side on the risers, staring into space and sipping from water bottles. Neither says a word. It's actually kind of nice. There's always noise in his life, his mom sighing or his sister whining or Rachel Berry complaining, and he appreciates the quiet.

He thinks it makes Kurt nervous because he barely lasts thirty seconds before opening his mouth. "Why did you agree to do this?"

It takes Puck a long time to respond though he knows the answer. He doesn't like Kurt. A lie, he doesn't mind the pipsqueak when he isn't talking about fashion or hair products, but he doesn't know him. He doesn't trust him. He spent the last two years forcing the kid to dumpster dive; he's not about to open up and share his secrets. "Why'd you do it?" he asks to deflect the question off himself.

It takes Kurt a moment to answer. "I'm sick of never being in the spotlight. Finn or Artie always get the solos. I saw how you helped Mercedes. I thought maybe you could help me too." He tosses his head and fingers the man purse at his side. "Besides, you owe me."

Puck knows he owes him. He owes a lot of people. He owes Finn for knocking up his girlfriend and Quinn for ruining her life and Rachel Berry for ruining sweater upon sweater with different colors of flavored ice. He owes Kurt the truth, even though he might have to change schools if a word of what he says gets out.

He sighs, like his mom when the bills are due, and closes his eyes. "Mr. Schue said the song's about a rock star. I'm never going to be one in real life. I might as well play one while I still matter."

He doesn't open his eyes but his ears work so he hears Kurt's words even though he's speaking softly. "That's not true you know."

_"You're a Lima Loser and you're always going to be a Lima Loser." _He represses a shudder as he remembers the smug, self-righteousness in Quinn's eyes and the way he didn't fight her because he'd known she was right. Banging moms might have scored him enough cash to keep his car running and pay for Homecoming tickets, but it's not exactly a future. "Yeah, it is," is all he says.

"You have a great voice," Kurt says. "You're not as good as Artie but you can play guitar halfway decent. But in truth none of it matters because you're so hot you could stand on stage and read the phonebook and girls would throw their panties at you."

He's opened his eyes halfway through the most uncomfortable compliment of his life to catch the way Kurt's nose wrinkles in disgust at the very end. For what feels like the hundredth time in three months, he doesn't know how to react. He still wants to run, because he knows (now) that Artie wasn't hitting on him but he doesn't think the same can be said of Kurt. He wants to flee because the kid he dropped in a dumpster for two years is the one telling him to live his dreams and he's not ready for that kind of selflessness in his life. He's already giving up everything he wants for Quinn to have her way. He doesn't have room for someone else's sacrifices.

Still, his mother raised him to be polite and acknowledge a compliment so he says "Thanks," and hopes it will put distance between himself and Kurt and all the weirdness that just went down.

It gets weirder from there, the awkward silence that creeps in around them and fills all the empty space in the room. Kurt clears his throat and steps to the mike, breaching the gap by returning to what brought them together in the first place. "From the top?" he asks.

It takes Puck a moment to get his fingers just right on the guitar and it's only when it takes three tries for them to settle over the frets that he realizes his hands are shaking. He's never had anyone (besides his mother) believe in him before.

_**"Don't breathe too deep. Don't think all day…"**_

He doesn't follow Kurt's lead. The original arrangement is clean, tidy, ready for a Broadway stage, and that's not him. He slides his fingers over the frets the way Artie taught him and strums so hard he's afraid they might bleed.

Kurt doesn't miss a beat and catches up to meet his pace.

---

He runs into Quinn in the parking lot after practice. She's waiting by the drop off lane for Finn to pick her up and he'd usually walk right by her like she doesn't exist (the way she walks by him) but he stops today.

She stares at him, eyes wide and green in her pretty face, and takes a step back.

He's been making an effort to stop punching people and inanimate objects but he has to grip his right thigh to keep from slamming his fist into a stop sign.

He wants to throw a slushie at her, just so she'll scream or shout or do something besides stare at him like he just killed her cat.

He even wishes he was Finn, growing pains and left and right issues and all, just so he can reach for her and pull her close and kiss her problems away.

He doesn't do any of those things, because he knows that in her mind he is the problem, and there's no solution that doesn't involve a lie that will break Finn's heart.

"I'm here if you need me," is what he says. He doesn't think he'll have his name in lights but he can do this. He can keep the promise he made the day the bottom fell out of his world. He can stand by his best friend's girl who's carrying his baby.

* * *

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	4. Talk Show Host

**Title:** "I'll Have to Say I Love You in a Song (Or Four Songs Puck Doesn't Sing for Quinn Fabray But One She Sings for Him)"

**Author:** Lila

**Rating:** PG-13/Light R

**Character/Pairing: **Puck, assorted members of "Glee"

**Spoiler:** "Mash-Up"

**Length:** Part IV of V

**Summary:** It takes a glee club to create a man.

**Disclaimer:** Not mine, just borrowing them for a few paragraphs.

**Author's Note:** Thank you to all those reading and reviewing this fic. I really appreciate your support. This is my absolute favorite Radiohead song, cemented when I saw them perform it live in 1998, and ten years and four albums later, it's still my favorite of their songs. I was very excited to include it. This is the second to last part and it might have edged out Mercedes' section as my favorite. I'm just really pleased with how it turned out. Thank you again. Enjoy.

* * *

**IV. **_**Talk Show Host**_

**_---_**

Puck dates Rachel Berry and somehow it all comes back to Quinn Fabray.

He dates her because she's hot (it's not like he hasn't noticed those obscenely short skirts) and because she's a good Jew (he sees her every year, across the aisle, at Rosh Hashanah services), but mostly because Finn wants her and can't have her and it's his only shot at winning.

He tells himself it's because of those short skirts and her long, dark hair and the smooth, golden skin of her thighs burning through the denim of his jeans but he knows it's because Finn already has everything he's ever wanted and he can't resist taking this.

It flames out spectacularly after a week and a half and takes what's left of his reputation down with it.

When she ends things, she does it on the football field (always Finn's domain more than his), and she doesn't take her eyes off him the entire time. When she says his name, something inside him freezes up, the way it did when Quinn cut him out of his (_their_) baby's life, and it hurts to breathe through the block of ice that's lodged itself in his chest.

Once, just once, he wants to win.

He can see Finn down on the field, staring into space, not having a clue what he has in front of him. He thinks of Quinn the day the clock struck 3:30 and Finn didn't duck into the choral room. She was wearing those sunglasses that made her look like a complete asshole but he could read her with his eyes closed. Her mouth trembled, just the slightest bit, and he knew how deeply the betrayal had cut. He thinks of Rachel, any day of the week, staring after Finn like his sister stares at that freak from "Twilight," while Finn does his very best not to let Quinn catch him staring back. He mostly thinks about how much he (kind of/sort of/a little bit) hates his best friend.

"I just think you want it too much. Which is something I can relate to. I want everything too much."

Rachel's words break through his thoughts and he turns away from what might have been and stares down at what's actually happening around him. Finn still looks confused and Rachel is still playing his game and his heart still kind of aches.

"I just hope we can still be friends," Rachel says and lays her hand on his shoulder like she wants to comfort him but it's hard to take seriously when her eyes keep drifting to the field.

"We weren't friends before," he says because the last thing he needs is her blathering in his ear about Tommy Tune when there isn't some fringe benefit (like getting to touch her boobs under her shirt and under her bra). He shrugs out of her reach and storms away.

He knows she's still staring at Finn. He knows Quinn is waiting for his best friend (even though he didn't choose her). He knows some things never change.

---

The morning after he spreads the rumor that he broke up with her (because there's no way in hell he'd ever admit to getting dumped by _Rachel Berry_), she appears at his locker before sixth period and stares up at him. She has that expression on her face that means she wants something (and is going to get it) so he just sighs and works the dial to his lock.

"Berry," he says and shoves his calc book into his bag. He yawns (no more third period naps) and hopes he did his homework right. He'll need the points if he ever wants to graduate this place on time.

"Noah, hi!" she says too loud and too fast, cheeks flushed and eyes bright. "I know we're no longer a couple, but it's my dads' anniversary tonight and they've already purchased tickets to "Love! Valour! Compassion!" and have a reservation for a lovely dinner and it would be truly devastating if I asked one of them – "

He's tempted to kiss her if it means she'll stop talking. She's never been the one he really wanted (he catches a flash of blonde hair out of the corner of his eye and something in his chest tightens even though it's the wrong blonde), but she's still hot. Especially when she's worked up like this. But they're not dating anymore and he was never the one she wanted either. He never wants to be that guy again. "Rachel, what do you want?" he asks and slams the locker shut.

It snaps her to attention and she blinks for a couple seconds before blurting out her request. "Can you drive me home this afternoon?"

His bag feels very heavy on his shoulder but not as heavy as the thought of being trapped in a car with Rachel Berry and her never ending stream of words. He wants to say no but feels like he owes the girl. He did throw a slushie in her face every day for two years. "Meet me in the parking lot after Glee," he tells her and walks away.

---

The ride is awkward. It would be awkward even if they'd never dated, but it's more uncomfortable knowing he's had his hand and mouth over most of the skin exposed by the low neck of her shirt. It's weird being in a cramped space with someone he's done that with (like sitting on a riser with Quinn when Coach Sylvester blew their lies to hell) and he knows she feels it too from the way she keeps squirming in her seat.

She doesn't say much, which makes him worried because he's known Rachel a long time and words have never escaped her. "Can I turn on the radio?" she asks to break the silence and he's grateful, probably for the first time ever, that Rachel Berry is speaking.

"Whatever."

When he's on the right stretch of road he can pick up the alternative station at OSU but Rachel skips right by the hint of "Karma Police" catching in the static and chooses the Top 40 station his sister programmed into his cd player. "I love this song!" she giggles and he's never heard it before but knows enough about music to recognize Jay-Z's distinct rhymes. "Doesn't Alicia Keys have the most amazing voice?" He thinks she can sing okay but he likes Mercedes better. He doesn't tell Rachel though. This is going too well to ruin it with a patented Berry meltdown. "Finn and I could totally do this song as duet," she continues and his fingers tighten involuntarily on the wheel; no matter how far he goes he can't escape the ghost of his best friend.

"Why didn't Finn take you home?" he asks even though he knows it will hurt her, because he wants to hurt her the way she hurts him (even if she doesn't seem to know it).

It's her turn to tighten, lips flattening into a straight line. "I know about the mailman," she tells him and keeps her eyes straight ahead. Even though he can't see them, he knows there's anger and jealousy there; he knows because he looks the same way every time Quinn looks at Finn like he's some kind of hero. "Plus, he and Quinn have a doctor's appointment today. Mr. Schue always drives them."

It's his turn to tighten again, fingers gripping the wheel so hard the knuckles turn white.

"It's a girl, you know," she says and he can't see her face but he can see the tight set of her mouth out of the corner or his eye and he knows, without really knowing, that she's saying this deliberately, not because she wants to hurt him, but because she just wants someone else to hurt the way she hurts. He thinks of all those slushie facials, the dumpster diving and the port-o-potty rolling. He knows the feeling.

She brightens, he can tell by the way her shoulders relax and her hair swings around her face from how fast she's talking. "We're Jews," she reminds him. "And we don't believe in baby showers, superstition and all that, but I know Quinn will want one. I guess I'll have to plan it, now that she's fallen so far down the social ladder…"

He knows she's still talking but only catches every other word through the haze of revelation: _it's a girl_. He sees blonde hair, green eyes, fair skin, a smile that can light up an entire room. He sees dark hair and his eyes (lashes too long but the only thing his father ever gave him), a pink bow brushing against his chin and a soft weight pressing down on his knee as they bend in unison to stroke the first notes of "Wild Thing" from his guitar. He sees a whole lot of things he's not supposed to have but he wants anyway.

It takes everything in him not to swerve off the road or slam on the brakes and he grips the wheel so hard his palms ache but Rachel never notices. She keeps going on about streamers and party games and he shuts it out because all he can hear is "Sweet Caroline" playing in the background while he balances a blonde toddler on his toes and swings her around the room.

He sees what feels like a million different things, a thousand different memories his father never shared with him, and every one includes a little girl that wears Quinn's face.

Rachel must have seen something in his expression, or the way the blood is rushing from his fingers given the way he's clenching the wheel, because she suddenly stops talking and he knows without looking at her that she's wearing the same pitiful expression he saw on her face the day she dumped him. He hates that look but he doesn't have the energy to fight today. He's been fighting his entire life. He needs to rest every now and then.

"I shouldn't have said that," Rachel says softly and she reaches out to lay a hand on his forearm. Her skin is cool and soft and he likes the way it feels against his, like his mom's palm brushing the hair from his forehead when she kissed him goodnight. He knows he should shrug her hand away, because he's never needed anyone to prop him up a day in his life, but he doesn't. He's tired of doing this alone.

"It's not like it's breaking news," he replies. "That's what happens when people have babies. They go to the doctor."

"I know how you feel about, Quinn," she reminds him and this time, even though it might run them off the road from how quickly he responds, he jerks away from her touch. She knows nothing about his feelings for Quinn.

"No, you don't." Even he doesn't understand what he feels for Quinn, because half the time he wants to kiss her and the other half he wants to strangle her for making him into the only person he's ever truly hated.

"I know what it's like to want someone you can't have. I know what it's like to watch that person love someone else. I know that every time they kiss, or touch, or look at each other like they're the only people in the room, it feels like there's something burning in your chest. I know because that's how I feel every time I see Finn with Quinn."

Almost everything about Rachel Berry scares him but he thinks this might frighten him the most, how she's slipped right inside his head, because every time he looks at Quinn, whether she's looking at Finn or not, it feels a little like something is dying inside him.

"They're never breaking up," he says, because it's an easy excuse but also because it's true. In Quinn's eyes Finn will always be the better choice.

"I know that," she says softly and her voice kind of shakes a little and if he didn't need his right hand on the wheel to keep from driving into a cornfield he thinks he might touch her arm the way she touched his. Or maybe her knee, exposed by the short hem of her skirt. He doesn't want to date her again but he's still a guy. And she's still hot. He thinks she'll probably always be hot. "But it doesn't mean the feelings go away." She pauses and breathes in deep, and her voice sounds more like the one he remembers when she continues. "It's not that Finn's the better guy," she says softly. "It's that he's the first guy."

He laughs because if Finn couldn't find the balls to knock up his own girlfriend there's no way he devirginized Rachel Berry. "Yeah, right."

She rolls her eyes. "That's not what I meant. He's the first guy in my heart. You're wonderful, Noah, but once I met him there wasn't room in my heart for someone else."

He doesn't make fun of her this time and he doesn't say she's wrong either because from the moment he kissed Quinn Fabray he didn't want anyone else.

They pull up at her house and the windows are dark but the curtains are bright and it still looks like a home. He turns off the ignition and she pulls her bag into her lap but she doesn't get out of the jeep. Instead she turns to him, for the first time the entire afternoon, and he forces himself to keep looking at her even though he hates what he sees there. He hates it because he knows it's like looking at himself. "I was wrong when I said you want it too much," she tells him. "You don't want it enough." She leans forward and brushes her mouth over his, so smooth and fast that it's over before he realizes what's happening, and opens the door. "Goodbye, Noah."

They might not have been friends before but this is Rachel Berry – he doesn't think he has a choice in the matter. When she steps out of his life this time, he knows it's not for good.

---

He doesn't want to but it's hard to forget Rachel's words.

Quinn pushed him out of her life and he didn't say a word otherwise. Quinn crowned Finn the father of _his_ baby and he never protested. He's let Quinn call the shots from the start. Maybe it's time for a change.

The radio blares in the background, something about Rome and Juliet, and he switches the station. They're on the right stretch of road and that station from OSU fills the jeep. It's music he likes, music he w_ants_, and he turns up the volume and the words spill from his mouth against his will.

_**"I want to…I want to be someone else or I will explode."**_

He doesn't know what he wants, not exactly, but he knows he doesn't want what this.

He still doesn't know how he feels about Quinn, if it's love or lust, the way all he has to do is look at her and something twists inside him. He doesn't know if he wants this baby but he knows he wants a choice.

He pulls up in front of his house and the curtains are faded but the lights are on and it's home.

He knows one thing to be true: he wants a part of it.

He might never get the girl he's always wanted but there's another girl (just a blip on a sonogram screen) he won't let go.

* * *

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	5. Dreams

**Title:** "I'll Have to Say I Love You in a Song (Or Four Songs Puck Doesn't Sing for Quinn Fabray But One She Sings For Him)"

**Author:** Lila

**Rating:** PG-13/Light R

**Character/Pairing:**Puck, assorted members of "Glee"

**Spoiler:** "Mash-Up"

**Length:** Part V of V

**Summary:** It takes a glee club to create a man.

**Disclaimer:** Not mine, just borrowing them for a few paragraphs.

**Author's Note:** Final installment, folks. Thank you again to everyone supporting this fic. It was really tough at times, as writing from a male point of view always is for me, but I'm ultimately satisfied with how it turned out. Enjoy.

* * *

**V. **_**Dreams**_

---

It ends in the choral room with Quinn Fabray smiling at him.

He stores his guitar there and a few days after he drives Rachel Berry home from school he stops by after football practice to pick it up and Quinn is sitting on one of the risers, sheet music spread out on the floor before her. She's singing something, a song he doesn't recognize, and she keeps starting and stopping, sighing heavily during each break.

She's wearing a dress, green to match her eyes, and it's one of those styles where it's tight across her boobs and hangs really loose the rest of the way down. He can't see much from the doorway, just lots of fabric covering her belly, but he thinks if he squints hard enough he can see the bump of his baby through the folds of her dress.

He mostly keeps his eyes on her face because she's always pretty but with her blonde down and turning gold in the light she's _beautiful. _It's hard to breathe either way, being so close to her, but it's easier to look at her face, easier than looking at her belly, hidden under a loose-fitting dress like she's hidden the truth through a thin veil of lies.

He doesn't know how to approach her, the day in the parking lot still fresh in his mind, because his moments alone with her are few and far between and the last thing he wants to do is scare her, or piss her off, or make her run the way she's run every time before.

He settles for clearing his throat, because it's just a sound rather than his voice and could be anyone in the club from Artie to Mike Chang, and gives him time to get to her before she can bolt.

She glances up, green eyes sharp, but they don't narrow into a glare. She mostly looks exhausted, like it takes too much energy to get angry at him anymore.

"Hey," he says when he realizes she's not going to run and she's not going to scream bloody murder, when he realizes she's going to sit on the riser and wait for him the way she never has before.

"Hey," she responds and he expects her to look away, pretend this isn't happening the way she pretends he's not the father of their baby, but she keeps looking at him and he's the one to break the stare because he sees too much (seven pounds, twelve ounces of soft weight in his arms) in those green eyes.

"What are you doing here?" he asks instead because it's late and she's alone and he's never seen her stay after practice.

She sighs again. "Mr. Schue asked me to sing a song for the Sectionals pep rally next week. They opened with it when they took Nationals in 1993. I keep trying, but I just can't get it right." She pauses and something catches in her voice when she speaks again. "I can't seem to get anything right these days."

He wants…he wants so many things. He wants to tell her he likes her because she does things wrong, that he likes her because he can see how imperfect she is when no one else can, that he likes how hard she works for what she wants when everyone believes it just falls into her lap.

He wants to tangle his fingers through her hair like he did that night and pull her mouth to his and kiss her so hard and with so much of what he feels (which is everything) that she'll forget whatever is holding her back.

He does none of those things, because he can't change that she doesn't want him or that he wasn't the one she wanted the night she chased a bad weigh-in with his mom's wine coolers.

He can't change the past but he can build his own future.

Instead, he picks up the sheet music and takes a look at the notes. He still doesn't recognize the song, but it's not too hard. "I can play for you," he offers. "Singing acapella is a bitch. It might be easier with music in the background."

Her eyes are still watery when she looks at him but he doesn't back down, even as his chest feels like it's filled with ice from how much he hates to see her cry. "Don't you have someplace to be?" she asks. "Rachel must be waiting for you."

He shakes his head, strums a few tentative notes. "Are you living under a rock, Fabray? We broke up last week."

She ducks her head and her hair swings in front of her face, but he can see the hint of a smile curving her lips, and the icy clutch around his heart eases a bit. "I stopped listening to gossip when it was all about me."

He doesn't have the right words to make her feel better but he can let her know that he cares, that he understands. "I'm here," he says and they're just two words but there's a thousand layers of meaning behind them. He's not walking away from this, he wants that to be clear, even if he has to start with playing a song. "Are you ready?"

She nods and clears her throat, hums a little under her breath as he picks out the opening notes.

_**"Oh, my life is changing everyday. In every possible way. And, oh, my dreams. It's never quite as it seems. Never quite as it seems ."**_

It's a good song for her and he sets the pace while she follows along, slowing down or catching up to move in unison with him. When they reach the end, they're in the same place, her voice even with the rhythm of his guitar.

There's a smile, a real smile, on her face as he strums the final chord and his hands still on the strings because it's been so long since he's seen her truly happy that he can't do anything but stop and take her in.

"What do you think?" he asks softly, afraid that if he speaks too loud it will burst the bubble of whatever's come over her and she'll run out of his life again. He's seen her walk away too many times. There's no more room in his heart for retreat.

"I think we make beautiful music together," she says and her cheeks turn bright pink, like she's said too much, but she doesn't correct herself. She just watches him, the ghost of that smile still on her lips, and it gives him the courage to open the can of worms he's kept sealed the past three months.

"I think we made a beautiful baby too."

The smile disappears from her face and her mouth trembles again, like it did that day at Glee when Finn didn't come through the way he did. Still, she doesn't look away. She mostly looks scared. "Puck…"

"There's one thing I've wanted my entire life," he says and his voice is sharp as it cuts her off but his tone is even because he needs her to know this is the most important thing in his life, even more important than her. "Please, Quinn. Don't make me into my dad."

"I can't," she whispers. "I can't do this. There's too much in my life already. I can't raise a baby too."

He feels like he's been punched in the gut because he's talking about being a part of his daughter's life and she's talking about giving her away. He's spent three months wanting nothing more than to hold her close and he suddenly wants to put as much distance between them as he can. He thinks she's saying something in the background but it's hard to hear over _traitor_ roaring in his ears to the rapid beat of his heart.

He feels a bit like his chest will explode from all the feeling there, the love and the lust and the betrayal competing to control the fluttering of his lungs. He can't look at her (she's beautiful, especially when she cries) so he looks straight ahead because he's not letting her take this from him the way she's taken everything else.

"I want to keep it," Quinn continues. "I thought I didn't but now I do. Every day the baby gets bigger and it gets stronger. Pretty soon I'm going to be feeling it kick. I…I know I'm too young to do this but I want to. I already know I'm going to hell, because I had sex with you and I lied to Finn, but I can do something right. I can give this baby the life it deserves."

It takes a moment for everything to settle down so he can hear her clearly, for him to breathe like a normal person, for his hands to uncurl from the fists he's holding at his sides. It takes a moment longer to be able to look at her, to find the strength to look into those green eyes (the eyes his daughter wears in every single fantasy) and say no. "Maybe we can give her that life together."

Her eyes go wide. "How did you know?"

"Rachel told me. Finn probably told her." She grimaces but he doesn't let it bother him. For the first time in years, in probably forever, this isn't about Finn. "You didn't answer my question," he reminds her even though he didn't ask a question. He still wants a response. He still wants…he wants her to say yes.

"I – we can't do this," she corrects herself. "I know you have your pool business, but we live in Ohio. We're seventeen. We can't even vote."

He doesn't know how politics relate to having a baby, but he can fix the first part. "I got a job," he tells her and for the second time in as many minutes her eyes widen. "At Walmart, in the music section. It sucks hard and I have to wear those ugly ass shirts, but it pays decent. It could have benefits if I want them."

"Puck – " she says again but he cuts her off and keeps going.

"I have a car. I can drive you to appointments." He thinks about Finn, holding her against his chest and shielding her from the world. "I can get you through this."

"Finn will hate us," she says and it hurts to hear his best friend's name but the ache dulls when he realizes she hasn't said no.

He doesn't even have to close his eyes to feel the thud of Finn's fist connecting with his face but it doesn't scare him the way he thought it would. "A lot of people already hate us," he reminds her, memories of slushie facials washing over both of them.

"What if we screw her up?" she asks and this time it takes him a moment to answer because it's the question that's held him back all this time, the one thing making him second guess fighting for the only thing that's truly mattered to him.

"My dad walked out when I was six," he says quietly. "I've made a lot of mistakes, done a lot of things I shouldn't have done, but this isn't one of them. We were stupid, Quinn, but it wasn't wrong."

She has one hand resting on her belly and it pulls the fabric tight over her stomach so he can see the slight bump there. It makes it real, seeing his baby inside her, and the room gets hazy from the sudden rush of tears in his eyes. He looks away, because he's still Noah Puckerman and he's not about to cry like a girl (especially in front of this girl) and his fingers curl into fists again to keep from laying his hand over hers. He can't lose it right now, not when he's this close.

Her voice breaks through and she sounds as much a mess as he feels. "I can't do this alone," she whispers and he thinks it will end there but Quinn Fabray has always been full of surprises and he can't hide the way his breath hisses between his lips as her hand wraps around one clenched fist.

Her skin is soft and warm against his, like it was that night, and his fingers relax under her touch to twine with hers. She doesn't pull away and she kind of sighs and he finds the balls to reach up to brush her hair back from her face. "I'm not going anywhere."

She looks at him like she believes him, like she believes _in_ him, and he can't keep from bending his head and brushing his mouth over hers. Her lips are soft, like they were that night, but she doesn't taste like wine coolers. She tastes like Quinn; she tastes like his future.

---

There's a noise by the door and they jump apart; he closes his eyes instinctively, waiting for Finn's fist to slam into the hard plane between them.

When he opens his eyes Quinn is smoothing her dress over their baby and Mr. Schue is watching them looking (more) confused than usual. "I came to lock up," he says. "I didn't expect to find you here."

Puck doesn't know which of them the statement is directed at, but he moves closer to Quinn.

"We were practicing that new number you gave me," she says and he nods, picks up his guitar. "With Puck's help, I think I really have it down."

Mr. Schue smiles, that stupid smile that means he has no idea what's really going on, and even claps his hands. "I'm so proud of how well you're working together. If you want, I'll run through it with you." He nods at Puck. "I'll take the piano if you'll take the guitar."

The last thing he wants to do is spend time with his teacher but doesn't have a choice. It's this song, this club, that broke down Quinn's walls. He can't exactly say no.

He takes a seat on the riser and Quinn sits beside him. He can't hold her hand but she's close enough that he can feel the heat of her through the flannel of his shirt. His fingers strum the first notes of the song before Mr. Schue comes in on the piano and Quinn's voice, stronger than he's ever heard it, breaks through the room.

_**"Oh, my life is changing everyday. In every possible way."**_

He didn't pay attention the first time (too focused on just being in the same room as Quinn) but he hears her loud and clear this time.

_**"Oh, my dreams. It's never quite as it seems. Never quite as it seems ."**_

Quinn smiles at him, eyes warm and bright, and he realizes this is it. This is what he's been fighting for. This is something he can never want to too much.

He can't see the future but he still knows what's ahead of him: Quinn getting so big she'll no longer fit into the contours of his chest and his wallet getting emptier but a little girl filling the spaces in between.

He sees his father that last day and he sees himself and he realizes the only thing they have in common are those long-lashed eyes.

* * *

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